


Bluebirds Flying

by Entwife_Incognito



Category: The Mentalist
Genre: Episode: s06e22 Blue Bird, F/M, Romance, smutty smut smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-19
Updated: 2020-06-19
Packaged: 2021-03-03 21:40:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24812458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Entwife_Incognito/pseuds/Entwife_Incognito
Summary: A glimpse into the blissful days of Teresa and Patrick as a new couple after 622 ‘Blue Bird.“ I never tire of fantasizing about that pre-honeymoon. A bit of 707 'Little Yellow House’ foreshadowing.First posted on Tumblr August 1, 2015.Strong situations, starts right up, so please don’t read if you don’t like that stuff.
Relationships: Patrick Jane/Teresa Lisbon
Comments: 2
Kudos: 29





	Bluebirds Flying

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I own nothing and make nothing from The Mentalist.

"Teresa …” 

She was nude, mind drifting and peaceful, lying across his lap in pink dawning light, held in a light embrace. When Patrick’s voice trailed away, she thought it was just a sigh of passion. 

His fingertips traced Teresa’s skin along unmarked trails. “… so fair under all your freckles … sleek, lithe … fluid …” Bending to her, his arm wound across naked breasts and he held one, weight filling his hand, soft and firm blending into the erotic. Focused on her upturned face, his eyes were shadowy and lazy with the same heat that filled his lips. 

Teresa was drawn to those eyes and lips, both arms rising in graceful arcs to finger the curls in his hair, stroke his handsome head, gently pull him close enough to kiss. She lifted and the flow of her hair brushed the linen covering his hip. When their lips parted, the light had changed a little, striking gold into his tousled halo of morning curls. “My angel …” 

Her endearment touched him, so purely given. Patrick’s smile was bright, unfading, as he met her for a new kiss, one that wiggled on her lips because his, still smiling, couldn’t quite yield to passion. A swath of linen draped scant cover across her hips to mid-thigh, slithering when she turned to bring him closer. Mouth pursed inside an exploring kiss, he held her more firmly, hand sliding from her breast to pet her under the sheet, toying with her silky, bare sex until it was soaking wet. A soft moan flowed from her chest and through her open throat, inviting him with a leg thrown back to slip fingers inside and thumb her sensitized flesh. She crested and shivered in orgasm when, knowing her precipices, he whispered into her ear, “Come for me now.” 

Then he uncovered her, releasing her wet scent between them, sniffing and tasting his fingers while his chest rumbled pleasure. Breathing still quick, it hitched as Teresa watched his feral behavior. Holding his gaze, she exposed his aroused genitals, lowered her head without looking away and breathed long through her nostrils, licking her lips as her eyes dilated. He was clean with soap from last night’s shower, his mild, tantalizing sleep musk carrying her man to her nose. She swallowed him when he threw back his head, pulsing and crying out in rising ecstasy. Then, quietly, her head rested on his relaxing belly, watching him soften and curl into something sweet and classically male. 

His rusty voice rumbled under her cheek. “Let’s get dressed and go for a nice pastry. You’d love a staunch coffee and I’ll have my tea. We’ll be ready to get unpacking your house again in no time.” 

Teresa’s need for caffeine made her agree, although her first inclination was to laze abed a good deal longer. “Let me clean up, first. I’m messy.” 

“There’s nothing better than getting messy with you every night.” 

“And morning.” Her eyes playfully reproached him. “I can’t walk around squishy all day.” 

He squeezed a handful of ass when she arose for the bathroom. “Mmmm, squishy.” He slapped playfully. “But it’s your own squish between your legs … my squish went into your mo-.” 

Teresa giggled and held up a shushing finger as she walked on. Patrick was so much fun to be with. Open, affectionate and playful. Passionate and focused. Physical, always wanting to touch her, and it made her feel alive. With him, she felt free, like she’d never really breathed until they began their romantic relationship. He was a wonderful, attentive lover. Friend. Partner. She’d never been happier. Who knew how far it would go? It was great for now, and that was enough. The best part was seeing how happy she made him. 

They met again at the front door, smiling at the sight of one another. His happiness had noticeable physical effects. 

“You’re filling out those suits a lot nicer these days, Patrick.” The tease in her eyes was merciless. 

“You’re wicked! Don’t talk about it- you’ll make it worse! I’m always a little hard when I’m around you Teresa. Just seeing you …” 

She put her hand on his fullness and gave a little squeeze. They had to wait five more minutes—after Patrick finally pushed her out the door while he waited inside. 

After their return to the house, they emptied a lot of boxes, placing the contents where Teresa wanted them. They tried not to look at each other for long, lest they end up in the bed instead of completing the tasks they’d set. In the end, the simple fact of their togetherness, their proximity in the house, returned the focus to each other. 

Spring sun lowered into mid-afternoon warmth, coaxing the scent of anything blooming into the mild air, filtering through the open windows with the sunbeams. Magnolia was heavy and sweet, drifting from the fleshy flowers on the tree planted long ago in the yard next door. 

He wanted to photograph Teresa, black and white. Strong sunlight swiped the freshly shaved skin of her vulva, Chills of gooseflesh rose on her entire, nude sex. Her labia were so swollen they pulled her open, plump naked hills split by the slender length of her hooded clitoris. She had pulled her legs up, wide open, showing him her pink core. Shivers of shock still went through him whenever she did this, wanting him, accommodating his body in an act of love. He could never believe his good fortune at having her love and desire. 

“God. You’re standing up, Teresa. Your clit is so fat and hard. I can see the head poking out at me, all pink pearl. And your lips, swollen into little standing hills on either side of it.” He rubbed her with the head of his cock, gasping at the hot silken feel of her, the contours and surfaces. 

“Tell me more …,” she whispered, eyes shut to imagine what he described, the sound of his rapt voice arousing her past bearing until they were riding each other to a place words failed. Before Patrick, she’d never had sex with someone she truly loved. She may as well have said she’d never had sex. Or perhaps had used another’s body to masturbate. But that wasn’t quite fair to her memories of those experiences. They were good. Just incomparable to this. 

Patrick wanted to make a video in black and white. Kneeling between her legs to watch his skin slide into her, feel as it slid back and forth on his cock, her muscles trying to squeeze as she became more restless and excited. No matter what else they did, entering her was the best, sublime and wordless as if their breath suspended at the still-new awe of their joining. As if these first few moments of connection were the very first. 

He was wide and thick; she was narrow and tight. It helped to press his thumb near the head until he’d moved it inside. Then he made himself slick with her, watching his cock ride deeper and deeper, his length getting wetter and wetter as he drove and pulled until he’d pressed the rest of the way in. Hard cock heavy with blood, she was light and slender, scorching. He could see his cock move inside, raising the skin under her belly, the head driving into her and moving out again, a rippling piston of hard flesh in soft, that made her breathless music. Nothing more sensual had touched him in life. He wished it would never end. Then she started to move with him, or perhaps set her own rhythm as her knees gripped his sides or her heels gripped his back. She drew him away from the land of sight into the land of sensation alone, of breath and voice, the cushions of her breasts driving him mad. 

Tendrils of orgasm seized her, and Teresa confessed things she felt frightened to say even in their quietest moments, words shaken free by the little death’s looming annihilation. Delayed until nearly past sense, her final words were finishing gasps as it carried her away. The thought of losing their chance at this intimate, satisfying life forced a hoarse whisper whose last words rattled as her climax began, “I have to have you, Patrick. I can’t be without you.” 

He drove deeper, in a hold designed to meld them together, speaking low by her ear, “I know. I know, Teresa. Me, too,” before he spurted all he had of life into the beautiful creature, Love, underneath him. 

After, Teresa had fallen asleep, the sheet draped so that the lips of her sex peeked out the bottom edge. They were plump and fuck pink. Patrick marveled at the privilege of being allowed to look at her. Wine, he decided. 

When he returned from the kitchen, she’d rolled to her side, legs curled up to reveal the seam of her bottom. He was hard before he set down the glinting red liquid. 

She stirred at the sound of glasses lightly clinking onto the bed table and looked at him. “Will you just stay hard all the time now?” 

“I can’t help it. Seeing you naked is still new. Wonderful. Stimulating.” His cock bobbed as a surge of lust hit him. “You’re a very beautiful woman, and you want me.” 

That brought a grin and she threw the sheet off, an invitation, but didn’t change her position. He stood in front of her while she ran a finger along the seam of his balls, starting underneath, traveling up the shaft until she flipped the plump head with a flourish and a sultry wink. 

“Mount me this way.” She put a hand to her haunch and pulled a little to show him. “Makes it easy to use your fingers, too.” 

“I love when you talk proper dirty …” The bed shook as he quickly kneeled below her, brushing broad hands and long fingers all over her skin from waist to knee while she held and kneaded her breasts, pinching the nipples. She moaned when he leaned forward and kissed her neck, her nipples rising hard as she pulled them. When he wiggled fingers at her vulva, she lifted her leg to give him room. In moments he was inside, enjoying the new angle and the sounds of her pleasure, kissing a breast and sinuously moving like a big inchworm, back rounded to hips, completing the curl into her, fingers fondling her clit. When he pressed along its buried length to bare the tip to his touch, she cried out and he answered. 

They cooled in careless heaps, his hand lingering in a lazy caress where it had landed. “You’re an exciting woman to make love to.” She put a hand on his and they fell asleep. 

Dinner was light and delicious, shared at twilight on the deck out back. A sliver of moon rose in the west and the strongest stars and planets battled the city lights for prominence. The light breeze whispered comforting things to their bodies. While Teresa carried the remains of their meal inside, Patrick walked the large back yard and stood under the visiting branches of the neighbor’s magnolia. 

Teresa smiled and followed him when she came back outside. “It smells nice here.” She snuggled into his arms, hers wrapped at his waist. 

“I was wondering … kitten …” Patrick watched for her reaction to the tentative endearment, continuing when she smiled and blushed. “What made you take this house?” 

Tilting her head back, she looked at him, humorously puzzled. “Uh … I needed a place to live?” 

“Of course.” He rolled his eyes. “But why this house? Does it remind you of your childhood home, or …?” 

Even his arms registered a little surprise, open and suspended in the air as Teresa pulled away abruptly, turning from him. “Hardly.” 

He followed her. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to hit a sore spot.” 

“It’s okay. It’s just … well, you know my childhood wasn’t happy. I don’t have fond memories of 'home.’” 

“Of course you wouldn’t choose a house like your family home.” 

“No.” 

He pulled her for a kiss. “This place is perfect for you. I love it.” 

“Me, too.” Composed now, her eyes sparkled dark in the moonlight. 

“I want us to stay at my house sometimes, too.” 

“What? The Silver Bucket?” His Airstream motor home? 

“Yes! You’d be surprised how comfy and pleasant it is to spend the night there. Refreshing breezes … and the sounds of night all around. Permanent hook-up. All the amenities. Nice, private spot. You’d like it.” 

“Comfy? I’ve heard you talk about your lumpy mattress keeping you awake.” 

“I bet I wouldn’t notice the lumps if you were with me.” 

“But I might …” She grew kittenish in his arms again, fiddling with his shirt buttons. “We’ll have to try it and see.” 

Waking first the next morning, he threw on his rumpled suit as carelessly as any other day, slipping into socks and shoes to make a run to the barista. He could return with coffee before she attempted to plunder the remaining boxes in the kitchen for the coffee maker and grinder, only to find there were no coffee beans. 

“I’m going to get your coffee!” he yelled over his shoulder as he went out the front door. He listened for the spring-loaded deadbolt to set in the lock before he bounced happily off the porch and down her front walk. The barista was a block and a half away. 

It was a little awkward at the door when he returned. Being locked out was a humorous disconnect with a questioning edge. Needing to be let in by the love of his life when they’d been together nearly every minute, making love like fiends for two weeks! 

Sitting together on the edge of the porch, Teresa suggested Patrick should have his own key to the house. He had been ready all along, and what she took for initial reluctance was his anxiety that she might trigger her own commitment issues by moving faster than she was ready. She was fey and smiling that morning, magical and flitting around so many important issues. Delight and excitement managed what little trepidation she showed, and he agreed. He’d make her a set to the Airstream, too. She might not want them, but she was as welcome and free to be there as she was making him, here. Little steps. It felt right. 

Her cell chattered. His followed. Work. 

He bounced to her car. The model car she’d saved from her grandfather gave him a new avenue to please her. 

Leaning back and closing his eyes, to Teresa he seemed to be resting, perhaps centering himself for bodies and perps and lying witnesses. A thrill of excitement went up her spine. The chase. The mystery. 

Patrick, however, strolled his memory palace for a favor or connection to take his love for a ride in her grandfather’s favorite vintage of Cadillac. 

Back to work for the both of them. Patrick honored Teresa’s doomed request for relationship secrecy by flirting outrageously, but with complete deniability. Only she knew what was going on. After all, flashes of expansively buoyant and playful antics, if surprising and a bit irritating, were not uncharacteristic behavior. His light-hearted mood bordered waving a flag, not quite semaphore because he tried to keep it to small moves and tiny flags. Too early to plan the future, yet they both felt the warmth of future suns shining back on them through time.


End file.
